


Soulmates Share Scars

by tatterwitch



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood, Body Horror, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Scars, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 22:05:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16731495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: Fire burned hot in Keith’s core.Smoke curled in his wake. His knuckles ached. Sand still clung to the heels of his boots; grains popping and cracking with every step.Thick leather split under the pressure of sharpened metal. White strands threaded through dark hair.Keith’s heart stopped.His fingers trembled as they curled over the familiar curve of the man’s jaw.Spots danced over Keith’s vision. He tugged the fabric shielding his face down in a bid for breath. His fingertips brushed over the scar that mirrored the one arcing over the face before him.“Shiro.”





	Soulmates Share Scars

**Author's Note:**

> A contribution for VLD Positivity Week 2018 and for my Super Secret Pal @anidragon!!!

 

Soulmates shared scars.

Keith stared down at his bare skin. The water had turned cold at some point. It stung as it ran over his knuckles and made his vision swim.

Still, he could see the sickening shade of red as it scrolled across the screen. Pilot error. In memoriam. The words had seared themselves to the backs of his lids.

His fingers skipped over unblemished skin. Something behind his ribs ached. His fingers trembled, nails pressing hard into the heels of his palms.

Tinny voices issued past the thin walls and half-closed doors. Pundits droned on about faulty landings and the impossibilities of survival. Some half-cocked news host theorized about an explosion.

The tile was frigid against Keith’s forehead.

It was impossible.

All of it.

 

* * *

 

Keith stared at his side.

The white of his standard issue undershirt looked sickly under the harsh light of the bathroom. Darkness speckled the thin cotton above his belt.

He shifted, knuckles bleaching to match the pale porcelain of the sinks.

Thin lines of red spun themselves through the fibers of his shirt in an ever-lengthening line. The fabric stuck to his skin unpleasantly before his trembling hands caught on the hem.

Blood stained his belly and the band of his boxers.

His lungs burned for air suddenly.

His heart lurched painfully as bile rose up his throat.

There, cutting across the jut of his hip, rode a long pink line.

 

 

* * *

 

Heat trickled down Keith’s arm beneath the lining of his jacket.

Heat burned in his chest and clawed its way up his throat in words with edges that glinted in the dull light of the Garrison’s offices.

Iverson’s eyes trained on his shoulder before pointedly moving away again.

Keith could feel the sticky warmth soaking through his sleeve.

The blood would stain his uniform.

It wouldn’t matter.

 

 

Keith’s shirt stuck to his back when he tried to remove it.

It peeled free with a noise that made his stomach turn. The black fabric was stiff in his hands.

Desperation tinged his thoughts as he ran the material under the fuel station’s bathroom tap.

There was more than a chance that it was a mix of sweat and sand and dust.

Keith had been selfish. For so long he’d examined every inch of himself looking for any trace of his soulmate. Soulmates shared scars. And Keith had wished…

He squeezed his eyes shut. The water was lukewarm as it washed over his hands. It soaked into the fabric. The threadbare thing suddenly weighed far more than than it should have.

Keith took a breath and pried his lids open.

Grime rode around the sink in a faded ring. Brown water sifted between his fingers before spiralling down the drain. Faint tendrils of red curled around the crooked rubber stopper.

Keith had wished…

The mirror was cracked in one corner. A film had developed, built of dust and water and other things best left to the imagination.

Rust crept over Keith’s shoulder. Sweat made it run red down the dip of his neck. Something behind his ribs squeezed hard and tight as he turned and glanced back.

And immediately wished he hadn’t.

 

 

* * *

 

Keith pored over pages stolen from books and maps. Bits of paper fluttered from a half-cracked corkboard. Sticky notes that had long ago lost their adhesive were secured with bits of cellotape and what pins he could pilfer.

Something pulled at his bones. Miles past the shack, the sensation grew almost undeniable.

A new scar arced over Keith’s nose and cheeks. Red dripped onto the stack of hastily ripped pages in his hand.

There was something at the back of his mind that whispered urgently. Whatever was out there, it had something to do with finding Shiro.

 

 

* * *

 

Keith woke to sheets stained scarlet. The bedding had been unsalvageable even after multiple washes.

Lines veed beneath his collarbone before joining over his sternum and ending just above his navel.The scars were a violent pink, lurid against Keith’s skin.

His mind was thrown back to old biology classes. Silver trays gleamed in the industrial lighting, heavy with piles of grey and yellow and hollowed out skins.

Keith didn’t eat for three days.

 

 

* * *

 

Visions of long teeth and yellow eyes haunted Keith’s dreams.

The desert pulled at him. Unseen fingers hooked beneath his skin and curled around his bones, tugging him across the sandy earth and toward the canyon edge.

The last rays of the setting sun painted the sky a violent shade of red. Stars peeked through the thinning clouds.

Sticky heat rolled down Keith’s arm.

Ragged lines crawled up his flesh; muddy in the growing darkness. Blood welled from his skin, beading from his pores unbidden.

The sight of scars appearing wasn’t new.

But the pain was.

Keith cried out at the burn of it. His muscles spasmed, all at once feeling too much and nothing at all.

As suddenly as the sensation had come, it vanished. An icy sort of numbness settled in.

It took a week before Keith’s fingers curled into a fist without concentrated effort.

 

 

* * *

 

Fire burned hot in Keith’s core.

Smoke curled in his wake. His knuckles ached. Sand still clung to the heels of his boots; grains popping and cracking with every step.

Thick leather split under the pressure of sharpened metal. White strands threaded through dark hair.

Keith’s heart stopped.

His fingers trembled as they curled over the familiar curve of the man’s jaw.

Spots danced over Keith’s vision. He tugged the fabric shielding his face down in a bid for breath. His fingertips brushed over the scar that mirrored the one arcing over the face before him.

“Shiro.”

 

 

* * *

 

Soulmates shared scars.

In the dim light of the dawn, the marks etched into Shiro’s skin seemed so much darker.

Keith watched Shiro dress through half-closed eyes.

Dark fabric smoothed under steady hands. Broad shoulders hunched as Shiro bent. A crescent-shaped scar wrapped around one thigh. It disappeared as Shiro straightened and fastened his belt.

Keith shut his eyes as Shiro turned.

Something all at once cold and hot crawled its way down Keith’s throat. It coiled heavily in his gut.

Keith had wished…

The coiled thing in his belly rattled and hissed.

Calloused fingers curled over his cheek, still sleep-warm as a thumb followed the scar that arced over his nose.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice was as soft as his touch. “I know you’re awake.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and turned his face into Shiro’s palm. The universe never listened, never cared. Not once before. Yet, Keith couldn’t help but feel that it had this one time in some twisted way.

“Keith-”

Keith’s breath trembled. Words clamored at the back of his tongue, both acrid and cloying. He swallowed around them, ignoring the way they stuck.

“Shiro.”

Those grey eyes were deeper. Something passed behind them, a shadow in a half-lit room. Shiro’s brow furrowed the slightest bit. His hand shook where it rested against Keith’s cheek.

He leaned forward, cushions dipping between their bodies.

Shiro’s thumb followed the scar over Keith’s face again. His breath hitched audibly.

“You…” Keith’s hand lifted on its own, fingers curling over Shiro’s chest. “You don’t have to say anything.”

They fell into one another in the silence of the room; matching not only in their synchronized breaths but in the marks that they both bore.

Keith had wished for the heavy marks. He’d yearned for them, mourned over them, dreaded their appearance…Hated that he secretly rejoiced in every one.

It was all terribly, wonderfully impossible.

Yet against all odds, the universe had listened.

 


End file.
